I went fishing the other night below Keystone Dam about dark-thirty. I fished a couple of hours without nary a bite. It was hot and muggy without much of a breeze so the bugs were out in full force. They found the sweet, tender meat of my ankles much to their liking. None of this would have mattered if the fish had been biting.
As I sat there waiting for the tips of my rods to go crazy with the thrashings of a 30-pound cat, I noticed a 4-legged cat or two making its way down to river. At first I thought they were after a drink of water. In all likelihood they were looking for the dead shad that the neat Okie fishermen had left all over the bank.
Around 10 I tried to reel in my lines to check the bait. Both lines were snagged forcing me to sacrifice my terminal tackle to the hillbilly demons of the Arkansas River. I decided this was a good time to leave. I gave away my remaining shad to the group fishing just west of me, and packed up my equipment.
If you never have been fishing below the dam at Keystone you might need a picture of how to get to the water from the north parking lot. The “official” way is a very long sloping ramp that leads down almost next to the dam. From there, a sidewalk runs from the dam back to the southeast for a far piece. Above the sidewalk is a steep, rock covered hill that is for the most part overgrown. Worn across this hillside is an “unofficial” way that is a short cut back to parking lot.
As it was just barely pass new, the sliver of moon was not providing much light. I grabbed the hiker’s headlamp out of my tackle box and put it on. As I scanned across the hillside looking for the shortcut, I was amazed to see the whole hillside sparkling. I realized the cat or two that I seen earlier was in reality a whole phalanx of felines, a cadre of cats, a posse of pussies. Everywhere I looked the tapetum lucidum within the feline eye was reflecting back at me in pairs. Quite a sight, and not one I will soon forget. I kept looking over my shoulder for Stephen King.
I exited the “official” way.